What Chicago GSB sees me as: An innovator with an entrepreneurial history, a person who creates value and drives measurable efficiency in the workplace, an independent thinker, a hard worker, someone who surpasses his peers. In short, a future business leader.

What my manager sees me as: most, if not all, of the above (she did write a letter of recommendation, after all). But also, as recently as last week, the guy who needs to go get her a Grande Skinny Iced Cinammon Dolce Latte.

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I hate having things in my pockets. I don’t use my back pockets. My left front pocket holds a slim wallet and keys, the right pocket, my blackberry. Anything more than this, and I get uncomfortable. When I’m carrying my iPod nano, which is usually only when I’m commuting to work and back, I put it in my shirt pocket.

It was in this configuration that I left my apartment for the office this morning. I strolled toward the subway station, thoughts of my to-do list on my mind, when all of a sudden the music cut off. I knew the battery had been low; I assumed it had finally died. I pulled it out to wind the headphones and throw everything in my bag.

However, the battery was not dead. Instead, my rock hard pectoral muscle manboob had managed to strike the click wheel with enough force to pause the music. I should probably go on a diet.

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I’ve had a few memorable experiences with Taco Bell lately.

First, while with a group of friends walking between bars, an attractive female acquaintance - someone not close enough (I think) to be familiar with this blog or my love for TB - pulled me away from the group and said “Amish, we’re going to Taco Bell.” I can’t even describe how magical it is when someone suggests Taco Bell, completely ignorant of my own obsession, but when you make said person a cute girl who is literally grabbing you by the arm and leading you, well, Holy. Fucking. Swoon.

On another occasion, I was recently in my local Taco Bell, ordering the standard meal I get at that particular location when - inspired by the new Jalapeno Melt thing - I asked for jalapenos on one of my items. I fully expected to pay extra for this additional request. Instead, the cashier looked at the register, looked back at me, rang me up for the same total and said “only for you.” It was like getting upgraded to first class by a goofy South Asian flight attendant with gapped teeth. A little bit creepy, a little bit awesome.

Finally, a friend of mine (hi Amy!) recently emailed me about my upcoming move out of New York. She wasn’t aware I was leaving so soon, and was wondering if I had time to grab a taco with her. Over the course of the day, others got involved. And now, with only three nights left to enjoy the wonders of New York, I’m having a group dinner at Taco Bell. I love my friends.